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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973054">Karma’s a Bitch and So Is the Nogitsune (But Derek Isn’t)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarpuffqueen/pseuds/Sugarpuffqueen'>Sugarpuffqueen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Caring Derek Hale, M/M, Post-Nogitsune, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Sickfic, post de-aged Derek, very brief caring Sheriff Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:48:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,522</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973054</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarpuffqueen/pseuds/Sugarpuffqueen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since his possession by the Nogitsune, Stiles hasn't been sleeping well. All he wants is a day off school to spend with his boyfriend, and faking sick seems like the best way to achieve that... Except when it turns out he's actually sick. On top of that, his boyfriend is a werewolf who's never been sick a day in his life, so he has no clue how to take care of Stiles.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>228</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Karma’s a Bitch and So Is the Nogitsune (But Derek Isn’t)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyOwl_17/gifts">SnowyOwl_17</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt from SnowyOwl_17: "Stiles can’t get the flu shot because he is allergic to one or more of the ingredients. He’s usually pretty good about doing natural remedies to keep himself healthy, but with all the supernatural stuff that’s been happening, he hasn’t kept up like he usually does. So he gets the flu and feels like death."</p><p>I had sooo much fun writing this! Love me a good sickfic prompt :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stiles wakes up coughing and buries his face in what he thinks is his pillow. But pillows aren’t usually this warm or firm, and they don’t roll toward him and place a steady hand on his back or ask, “Hey, you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, right. Derek. They’re at the werewolf’s loft because he and Derek had decided to spend the day in bed catching up on sleep and… other things. Stiles is skipping school to do it. He’d told his dad that he wasn’t feeling well (which, at the time, was a complete lie), and when the sheriff gave him a skeptical look, he buried his face in his hands to cover the fact that he wasn’t actually crying and began wailing about how tired and anxious he was and how school just felt like too much right now and please, could he please just stay home? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It worked like a charm. Stiles will have to thank Lydia for that one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth, Stiles </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> been tired and anxious. Neither he nor Derek has been sleeping well lately. Stiles, because he’d only recently been released from the possession of a freaking Japanese trickster demon (who, from the feel of his throat right now, had no freaking idea how to take Vitamin C), and Derek because he’d been kidnapped and deaged by Kate Argent, who Stiles knows has made Derek feel helpless and anxious ever since he was fifteen years old. (He’s back to his grumpy, adult self now, but he’s still been a little off ever since.) So really, they deserve a day off to do nothing but be together. They sleep better together anyway. Not perfectly. They both still have their fair share of nightmares. But definitely better. Stiles, for one, feels safer when he’s with Derek, and he suspects Derek does, too, even though Stiles is only human, and not a very intimidating one at that. They both know he can’t really do much against supernatural creatures, at least not physically. Still, the way Derek’s been acting lately suggests he’s much more comfortable when Stiles is around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the coughing subsides, Stiles half opens his eyes to see a world that is far too bright, even in the shadowy corner of the loft where Derek keeps his bed. Stiles blinks a couple times, trying to quell the throbbing pain in his head that seems to have come with the light, and Derek’s concerned scowl comes into focus just above him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Throat’s dry,” Stiles croaks, letting his eyes sink closed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s not an entirely accurate description. In truth, it feels hot and scratchy, like he tried to drink a glass of desert sand and most of it got caught in his throat. He tries swallowing to moisten it, but that only makes him wince in pain, something the wolf must notice because Stiles can feel him tensing up as he says, “You’re sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a question. And if his boyfriend weren’t a freaking werewolf, he’d lie and say, no, he just needs a drink of water. But not only can Derek literally hear a lie, Stiles suspects he’s right. On top of the sore throat and headache, it kind of feels like the world is slowly tilting around him. He’s sweating so much his t-shirt is sticking to his skin and even though he knows Derek’s bed is super warm (partially thanks to the fact that Derek himself is super warm because wolves run hotter than humans), he can’t help shivering. The shiver tenses his muscles, which all protest painfully, and is his nose running? Stiles tries to sniff and finds that it’s completely plugged. Great. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs because he knows he has to admit defeat, but the sigh turns into another coughing fit, and before he has the chance to turn his face away from Derek, the world tilts horribly and Stiles clamps his eyes shut as his stomach sloshes unpleasantly. When the movement stops, he finds himself sitting with his back against the wolf’s chest. He narrowly avoids groaning when the coughing subsides, but Derek seems to take the whole thing as confirmation to his non-question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t get it. You were fine before we fell asleep. What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is quiet, but definitely on the concerned side, so Stiles explains, “It’s prob’ly the flu. Comes on suddenly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The flu?” The pitch of Derek’s voice is higher than usual and his grip on Stiles’ arms is tightening. “That’s serious, right? I should take you to the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Whoa, hold on there, big guy,” Stiles says, trying to ignore the pain in his muscles as he cranes his neck to look back at the wolf. “This is not--it’s a normal human illness that everyone gets, okay? It’s not life-threatening unless you’re old or have a compromised immune system. You don’t need to take me to the hospital. I just need some rest and fluids. And maybe a fever-reducer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek scowls like he doesn’t believe Stiles, so the teen adds, “Seriously, Derek. If you take me--a normal, healthy, teenager--to the hospital for the flu and it’s not presenting with any complications, they’ll prob’ly be mad you dragged me outta bed and wasted their time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wolf huffs, then wraps his arms around Stiles and pulls him a little closer. He rests his chin on Stiles’ shoulder and mumbles indignantly, “Well, I’m at least gonna call Melissa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re not,” Stiles answers. His energy is flagging, so he leans his head against Derek’s and closes his eyes as he rasps, “If you call Melissa, she’ll call my dad. And then he’ll come home to check on me and wonder where the fuck I am, and then I’ll get in trouble. Now, will you let me lie back down? Sitting up is making me dizzy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a level of care that marvels Stiles, Derek lowers them both back down onto the bed so Stiles is on the opposite side from where he started, facing away from the wall. Derek’s arm is wrapped around his middle, cradling him gently. It’s as comfortable as it’s going to get for Stiles and he’s just drifting off to sleep when a tickle starts building behind his nose. He scrunches and wiggles it, trying to work the tickle out, but it’s no use. He pulls his hand up to his face just in time to catch more snot than a nose should ever produce, before sneezing just as powerfully twice more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles groans when he’s done because those sneezes hurt his nose and his head, and because now his hand and face are gross and his boyfriend is there to see it. He feels the bed shift behind him and then Derek’s gone and Stiles isn’t quite sure what to do about his handful of snot, and he’s a little embarrassed that he chased the wolf away. But Derek comes back a moment later and crouches next to the bed, offering Stiles a wad of toilet paper. He tries his best to clean himself up without letting Derek see just how gross it really is, but once his face and hand are dry, he’s not quite sure what to do with the drenched toilet paper. Derek holds a hand out and Stiles shakes his head minutely, saying, “You don’ want this. It’s disgusti’g.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annoyingly, the hoarseness in Stiles’ voice is now accompanied by a nasal quality that he just knows is going to make him mispronounce words. Already, he can’t help but finish the word “disgusting” with a hard “g”. What’s worse is that the sneezes triggered a pressure build-up in Stiles’ head, so that on top of the headache, the whole thing feels stuffed with cotton. He watches as Derek crosses the room, grabs the trash can near the door, and brings it back. Stiles can’t help a pitiful little moan escaping as he deposits the toilet paper into the trash, and Derek gives him a look that clearly means he wants to do something for Stiles but doesn’t know what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought there was something you could get to prevent the flu. A shot or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is,” Stiles answers, closing his eyes again. The pressure from his nose plus the brightness of the room is making them water. “I can’ get the flu shot because I’b allergig to the antibiotig they put id it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek rests a hand on Stiles’ head. Immediately, the pain begins to lessen and Stiles relaxes into his pillow. He hears Derek ask, “What do you need me to do? How do I take care of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s asleep before he can answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles gasps and sits up abruptly when he hears the thud of the heavy metal door to the loft. He has to clamp his eyes shut to block out everything spinning around him, although it doesn’t help much since it seems it’s his head that’s doing the spinning and his stomach is going along for the ride. The headache is back, too, worse than before. He’s pretty sure he moans or whimpers or something, and then a pair of hands are holding his arms gently and he hears Derek’s voice saying, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles allows his head to fall forward onto Derek’s chest where he coughs weakly but refuses to open his eyes yet, afraid the loft will still be spinning, or that it’ll be too bright. The wolf wraps him in a hug and Stiles whines, “Der, I don’ feel good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, babe,” Derek answers, his voice low. He rubs Stiles’ back as he adds, “But I ran to the drugstore to get you some stuff that should help, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening his eyes a sliver, Stiles lifts his head to see Derek smiling warmly at him as he gestures toward a load of reusable grocery bags sitting a couple yards away from the bed. Somewhere in the back of his head, Stiles wonders why there are so many, but he’s too stuffed up and sore to think about that right now. He blinks back at Derek. There’s a gleam in the wolf’s eyes that Stiles can’t quite place, but his head throbs so he digs the heel of his hand into his temple while Derek adjusts the pillows behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon. Lie back,” Derek says, his hands back on Stiles’ arms as he lowers him onto what turns out to be a mountain of pillows. It’s soft, and Stiles can tell that his pillow is right at the top, but he thinks he’d be a lot more comfortable curled up on his side without the rest of them. Still, it feels better than sitting up, so Stiles closes his eyes, ready to drift off to sleep again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels the bed release as Derek stands, and lets out a raspy little sound as he reaches a hand out. He really just wants Derek close right now. He’s not even thinking about how the wolf could drain his pain. He just wants to be able to complain about how shitty he feels while Derek runs his fingers through his hair, or holds his hand, or wraps him up in his arms. The neediness surprises Stiles a little because he hasn’t been that way since his mother died. But his brain is sluggish and he doesn’t really have the energy to consider why he’s so clingy, so he just goes with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m coming right back. Just gotta grab a few things,” Derek says, and Stiles can hear him rummaging in the bags.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry up. I wannda be spooned,” Stiles gripes, dropping his hand with a scowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an amused huff from the direction of the bags and then the soft pad of Derek’s footsteps as he approaches the bed. Stiles can feel him sit next to him and immediately tries to curl around the wolf, but Derek holds him against his pillows and says, “Lemme take your temperature and get you settled, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles peeks an eye open, sees that Derek bought one of those thermometers that only needs to be passed over the forehead, and grumbles, “Fide. But thed I wan’ you in this bed, cuddling the shit outta be. And ndo leaving for anything but the bathroom, okay? I ndeed lots of boyfrie’d cuddles to help with the heali’g process.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek raises one eyebrow at him but doesn’t say anything, choosing to focus on the thermometer. He slowly slides it over Stiles’ forehead, pressing so lightly the teen’s not even sure it’ll read correctly, and when he pulls it away to look at the display, there’s a little crease in his brow. Stiles has always wanted to smooth that little crease out since it spends so much time marring the wolf’s face, but something always stops him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s the fact that Derek is still here even though Stiles is snotty and sick, or maybe he’s got a fever and it’s messing with his inhibitions, but Stiles decides to go for it. He reaches up and smooths a finger over the skin. Derek doesn’t move, but he blinks rapidly, obviously startled, and refocuses his attention on Stiles, who says, “Don’ like it whed you’re worried. Or a’gry. Or whatever you are right dow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a little confused,” Derek admits, taking Stiles’ hand and lowering it to rest on the blanket. Derek’s expression goes a little sheepish as he asks, “What does 101.2 mean for humans? Because for werewolves, that’s pretty normal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it’s Stiles’ turn to scowl. “It’s that high already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans, and when he goes to wrap himself around his boyfriend this time, Derek doesn’t stop him. Stiles closes his eyes and squeezes Derek’s leg, looking for comfort more than anything. He can hear Derek fiddling with something and he’s not quite sure what it is, but he’s definitely not climbing into the bed next to him. Stiles is just about to voice how displeased that makes him when Derek says, “Okay, the bottle says to take one or two. How many do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Stiles whines without opening his eyes. He knows he sounds petulant, but he can’t be bothered to care. If his throat weren’t so sore, he might actually be yelling at Derek by now to just lie down already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ibuprofen,” Derek pronounces slowly. “For the fever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles holds up two fingers before dragging the same hand across his running nose. He’s pretty sure there’s snot on his face and it makes him even more cranky. He starts to whine, but it triggers another coughing fit and he curls up even tighter against it, coughing into Derek’s leg. It makes it hard to get a decent breath, but he can’t help it. Derek abandons the pills and pulls him up so he’s leaning against the wolf, but the movement sends his stomach reeling again and there’s a moment where he feels like he might gag and he’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up on his boyfriend. Well, there are worse ways to get broken up with than pissing your boyfriend off by vomiting in his lap, he supposes. Not that he can think of any right now, but there has to be one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, being upright helps Stiles gulp down some air and he avoids losing his lunch. Or his breakfast, since he hasn’t had lunch yet and doesn’t feel like he’s ever going to want to have it again. Derek’s rubbing his hand up and down his back and it feels really good, so Stiles melts into him, allowing Derek to take his full weight as he focuses on breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’s able to suck down a few good breaths, Stiles doesn’t bother sitting back up. Derek takes Stiles’ hand and places two of the pills in it, asking, “Whaddaya wanna drink? I got orange juice because of the Vitamin C, green tea, peppermint tea, and pretty much every flavor of sports drink they had. Except for red. Scott said you don’t like red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You,” Stiles answers, wrapping his arms around Derek and leaning heavily into him again. It’s not sexy at all, but he doesn’t mean for it to be. He literally just wants Derek to lie down with him. If they can do that, Stiles is convinced he’ll feel a lot better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek gives a very eloquent, “Uh, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re by bedicine. Mbuch better thad those stupid pills,” Stiles says, nuzzling into Derek’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wolf tenses before pulling Stiles off of him and giving him a worried look. He must think Stiles is delirius because he presses his fingers to the teen’s forehead then huffs, looking annoyed. Probably because he can’t figure out if Stiles is just a little warm or way too hot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whaddaya mean?” Derek asks, his scowl deepening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s too much for Stiles. He doesn’t want to explain it again. He’s already been awake much longer than he wants to be, he’s still upright, which means his head is spinning and his stomach is roiling, and he just wants to cuddle his boyfriend, who’s literally keeping him from doing it. He’s cold, and not thirsty at all, and goddamnit his head hurts. His whole body hurts! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles’ breath hitches and his eyes sting and before he can do anything to stop it, they’re filling with tears. He tries to sniff but his nose is all plugged up, so instead his chin starts to quiver. He blinks and the tears spill down his cheeks and Derek’s eyes widen like he’s about to panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What… what’s happening? Stiles?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teen buries his face in his hands and tries to lean forward against Derek’s body, but the wolf is holding him in place so he can’t reach. The result is that he just kind of sags as a sob tears from Stiles’ throat and it hurts but he can’t help it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles, babe, you gotta talk to me,” Derek says, sounding frantic. “What do you need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wannda lie dowd,” Stiles wails. He’s way past petulant now. This is a freaking tantrum. But he can’t really care about that because his whole body feels terrible, and he tells Derek so. “B-by head hurts so b-bad and by stomag feels gross and everyth-thi’g’s spinni’g and I just wannda lie in bed, but y-you won’t let be! I don’t wannda take anythi’g. I j-just wannda cuddle with you. Please let me lie d-downd, Derek!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Derek says quickly, sounding relieved and scared at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He begins lowering Stiles back against the pillows, but the teen fights it, wrenching himself out of Derek’s grip (which doesn’t help the dizziness at all) and turning around so he’s facing the pile of pillows. He has to breathe for a few seconds so he doesn’t throw up, but once his stomach’s mostly under control, he pulls one of the pillows out from under his own and throws it across the bed. The momentum and the dizziness almost make him faceplant, but he’s able to catch himself. He chucks the other two pillows in the same way before collapsing onto the one that’s left--his own--and crying into it. His muscles are screaming at him by now, but his stomach doesn’t seem quite as upset, though his head is spinning worse than ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles feels the bed release again and he’s pretty sure Derek’s going to leave because why wouldn’t he? Stiles is acting like a child. He sobs hard into his pillow, thinking he just messed everything up, but then he feels the bed sink again, this time somewhere near his feet. A moment later (after the bed shifts some more, making Stiles feel like he’s lying on a raft in the ocean), Derek’s next to him, his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck siphoning off the pain in his head and muscles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sobs lessen into nothing more than hitching breath, and once Stiles’ pain is completely gone, Derek slowly coaxes him to turn toward him and pulls the teen to his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, babe,” Derek whispers, sounding contrite as he cards a hand through Stiles’ sweaty hair. “I was just trying to help you feel better. But we can lie here for a little while, okay? And once you’re satisfied, we’ll try the pills again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles gives a tiny nod before wrapping himself around the wolf, one heavy arm slung over his torso and his legs tangling clumsily with Derek’s. He tries to sniff again but nothing happens except his throat tickling, so instead, he coughs weakly into Derek’s shirt, any energy he has left draining out of him. Something akin to a purr vibrates through Derek’s chest and Stiles lets himself drift halfway between waking and sleep as his boyfriend runs a steady hand up and down his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lie like that for either a few minutes or a few millennia. Stiles can’t seem to tell time anymore. He kind of gets lost in how soft and warm Derek’s shirt is and how good his fingers feel running up and down his back and over his scalp. And without the pain in his head and muscles, the slight dizziness that lingers feels a little like a buzz. He goes boneless in Derek’s arms and drifts some more, until eventually Derek’s warmth stops being comfortable and starts making Stiles feel hot and claustrophobic. He blinks and presses himself away from the wolf with a raspy little sound. Stiles rolls onto his back, his legs kicking tiredly at the comforter until he’s completely free of it and he’s just lying there in his t-shirt and boxers, sprawled as widely as he can manage on his half of the mattress. Stiles can practically feel his mouth drying out and his stomach has that sick feeling it gets when Coach makes them run suicides on hot days during lacrosse practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Der, I’b thirsty,” he grates out through his sandy throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek doesn’t say anything but Stiles feels him scoot to the bottom of the bed and hears him pad over to the bags again. A moment later, he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress near Stiles opening a bottle of purple Gatorade. Stiles hauls himself up to his elbows and pauses to keep the room from spinning before pressing himself up the rest of the way and taking the bottle from Derek. He takes a huge swallow. The cool liquid feels wonderful in his overheated mouth and going down his throat, and it immediately makes him feel less hot, so he drinks more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek’s holding out his hand, which contains two little brown pills. Stiles opens his own palm and lets Derek tip them into it. Then he tosses them into his mouth and chugs the rest of the sports drink before wiping the back of his hand across his face. It comes away with a trail of snot across it and Stiles grimaces, so Derek gets up and goes back to the bags, returning a few seconds later with a box of tissues, saying, “The pharmacist recommended these tissues with lotion in them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds the tissues out to Stiles, who sets the empty Gatorade bottle on the nightstand and pulls three or four from the box. He tries blowing his nose, but it’s still plugged, so he ends up just wiping his face and keeping the wad of tissues in his hand as he lays back down, blinking up at Derek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel better?” Derek asks, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles nods and rolls onto his side, facing the bags, which still seem really full even though Derek’s taken a lot of stuff out of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else did you get?” Stiles gestures toward them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s mostly drinks and stuff to make soup. And popsicles, which are probably melted by now. Oh, and some sorta syrup for your throat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek’s wearing an adorably confused expression when Stiles turns back to look at him. The teen smiles and says, “Cough syrup.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek nods and Stiles guesses, “You pretty much just got everythi’g the pharmacist said, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wolf shrugs, looking unabashed. He cards his fingers through Stiles’ hair once more before saying, “I should probably put that stuff away if you’re okay with me leaving you alone for a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles nods and closes his eyes again, dabbing at his nose as he feels Derek stand from his spot on the bed. He listens for a little while as his boyfriend moves around the loft, letting himself relax back into that state of half-sleep. It’s not exactly comfortable, but he’s not overly hot anymore, and even though he can’t breathe out of his nose, he’s not in pain. He is cold, though, so he feels around until he finds the comforter and pulls it around his body before letting himself drift. He’s just on the edge of sleep when he’s brought abruptly back to full consciousness by his stomach rolling over, its contents sloshing hotly. It’s a really unpleasant feeling and Stiles can’t help squeezing his eyes even tighter as he wraps his arms around himself and curls up. It doesn’t help, though, and his stomach continues twisting and turning like it’s pod racing around his insides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit. He should have sipped the Gatorade. He knows that, has known it most of his life. But he was so hot and thirsty and it felt good to just chug it at the time. Not anymore, though. Now it feels like it’s curdling, a feat in itself, since sports drinks can’t curdle. The image doesn’t help, though, and Stiles whimpers as he tightens his grip on his abdomen. He gulps down air, willing himself not to be sick. Not at Derek’s loft. It’s one thing to watch your boyfriend sneeze into his hand or cuddle him when he’s feverish and coughing, or force him to take medication that you both know will make him feel better, or sit with him when he starts crying over nothing. (Honestly, he’s surprised Derek hasn’t given up yet.) But the fact still stands, throwing up in front of his boyfriend would be gross and embarrassing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t puke, don’t puke don’t puke,” Stiles barely whispers. Really, it’s more like he’s just mouthing the words, because if he actually whispers Derek would hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it’s been a long time since someone’s been so attentive while he was sick (not that his dad doesn’t try; Stiles just refuses to let him), and there’s a part of him that really wants Derek sitting with him right now, even though he can’t really do much to help Stiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His internal struggle is interrupted as his stomach roils worse than ever and he’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up whether he wants to or not, which Derek will definitely hear. But his decision about whether or not he wants his boyfriend to witness his agony is made for him when he hears himself whimper the wolf’s name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His traitorous mouth is filling with saliva and his stomach feels like it’s decided to turn inside out. Stiles opens his eyes to check that the trash can is still next to the bed. It is, sitting there innocently with almost nothing but some wadded up, snotty toilet paper and the plastic seal from the bottle of fever-reducer at the bottom. Stiles rolls onto his stomach and leans over the edge of the bed, spitting into the trash can as he hears Derek return from somewhere around the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he gags. Loudly. Liquid rips up his throat and rushes out of his mouth as his stomach clenches painfully. What comes out of his mouth tastes like a perverted version of how it did going down: sweet, but also bitter and sour. He doesn’t notice Derek sitting next to him, but his hand is on his back now, rubbing circles. Stiles doesn’t have time to appreciate it, though, because he coughs and his stomach clenches again, sending another portion of his sports drink back up his throat. Stiles closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch the purple pool forming at the bottom of the trash can, though he can smell it, even through his clogged nasal passages. He can’t help the little moan that escapes as he tries to breathe, or his nose choosing to join the party by running uncontrollably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek’s saying something now, using a soothing tone, but Stiles can’t really make it out. His stomach rolls again and another gag has him gripping the edge of the mattress and he’s pretty sure his knuckles are white. He actually feels the two little ibuprofen tablets as they come back up, one hard little lump and then the other. His head is spinning again and he’s too hot. He can feel sweat beading on his forehead and the back of his neck and his stomach muscles ache. While one of Derek’s hands continues to rub his back, the other grips his arm and it steadies his dizziness just a little. More liquid rushes up his throat and his eyes start watering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“D-der--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t even get the wolf’s name out before he’s retching again, but he does hear Derek say, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. Just get it all up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if he could stop any of it if he tried. He’s seen Derek puke up that black stuff when he got wolfsbane poisoning, so he knows the werewolf understands this predicament. Maybe that’s why he seems so calm right now. Another long, hard gag rends Stiles’ throat and clenches his screaming muscles, but no more than a little stomach acid dribbles out of his mouth this time. It tastes worse than the Gatorade did. Much worse. More bitter than sweet, and it’s completely coating his mouth and throat. Stiles can’t help but moan as he exhales. He spits, trying to rid himself of the acrid taste. His throat burns as he hangs over the trash, strings of snot swinging unpleasantly from his nostrils. He’s too tired to move, too worried he’s not done yet. But his stomach seems to settle into blissful emptiness and Derek offers him a tissue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles mops up his nose first and drops the tissue into the trash before flopping back onto the mattress. Derek uses another tissue to wipe his chin, the wolf’s eyebrows knitting and his brow crinkling in worry. Maybe Stiles had misheard the tone of his voice earlier. At any rate, Stiles doesn’t have the energy to really think about it, so he closes his eyes and breathes for a few seconds as Derek dabs at his sweaty forehead and tear-tracked cheeks with something cool and damp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are a few moments of silence before Derek says quietly, “I should take you to the hospital now, right? The website said if there are complications take you to the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles blinks at him. “S’not a complicationd. Just drank too much too fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek doesn’t look convinced, so Stiles says, “Happens sometibes when hubans are sick. Der, I need sombe water so I can rinse by bouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice sounds like he took a cheese grater to his vocal cords. It feels like he did, too. He swallows, trying to get rid of some of the acid taste, but it doesn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek’s expression is now skeptical as well as worried and he says, “If you drank too much, how is water gonna help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just to rinse,” Stiles explains. “I’ll spit it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wolf still looks unconvinced, so Stiles adds, “Thend you can take my temper’ture againd. If it’s too high, I swear, you cand take be to the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles gives Derek his best puppy dog look, which isn’t hard, considering his eyes are still a little watery. He probably looks pretty pathetic without even trying. It works, though, because Derek squeezes his shoulder and disappears into the kitchen. He’s back a moment later with a glass of water, which he sets on the nightstand. (It looks like he took care of the empty Gatorade bottle. Good. Stiles doesn’t want to see or smell Gatorade ever again, especially not the purple kind.) Then, he props Stiles up against his pillow and the headboard and hands him the water. Stiles takes it in both hands because he’s really shaky, and tips some of the contents into his mouth. He does exactly what he said he’d do, swishing it around and spitting it into the trash. Derek takes the glass back from him while Stiles runs the back of his hand across his chin and lips. He shivers, and Derek is scowling again, but he doesn’t say anything as he gets the thermometer ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It went up,” Derek says. “101.8.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-ndot high enough f-for the hospital,” Stiles answers with another shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like it,” Derek scowls, setting the thermometer on the bedside table near the glass of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles scoots down and pulls the comforter up to his chin, curling around himself again. The chills are pretty much endless now, which probably doesn’t help him convince Derek as he says, “Jus’ n-ndeed b-bore sleep. And c-cuddles. C-combe warb be up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles knows he’s going to give in. The wolf runs a hand through Stiles hair, which is dripping with sweat, and says, “Okay. But let me clean this up first and grab you a clean t-shirt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles lifts the comforter just a bit so he can see his t-shirt, wondering if he got snot or puke on it. It doesn’t look like it, but it’s almost as wet as his hair, so he gives Derek a stiff little nod through another shiver, and closes his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drifts again. Considering how terrible his stomach felt just a few minutes ago, he’s relieved for its stillness now. He doesn’t even have that lingering nauseated feeling from before the Gatorade. It’s as though his stomach has fallen asleep, and even though Stiles still can’t breathe out of his nose and his throat feels like it’s been shredded, he’s really doing much better. Except for these damn chills. He could definitely do without those.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if he hears his boyfriend’s thoughts, Derek walks back over. Stiles can hear him set the trash can down near the bed and feels the mattress dip where he sits. Stiles opens one tired eye to see Derek unfolding one of his own t-shirts. His insides seem to fill with something fuzzy. Derek doesn’t really have that many clothes, so Stiles never asks to wear them or “accidentally” takes them like he knows Allison had done to Scott. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he doesn’t want to. Humans can’t smell as well as wolves can, but that doesn’t mean Derek doesn’t have his own distinct scent. If Stiles could, he would make his bedding out of Derek’s worn clothes so he could smell him every night. Of course, that wouldn’t help now. He can’t smell anything. But he’s still excited to wear something of Derek’s, so he hauls himself up again and, with clumsy, cold fingers, pulls his sweat-soaked t-shirt over his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only has to shiver there for a second before Derek helps him into his own shirt, balls up Stiles’ dirty one, and tosses it into the hamper at the foot of the bed. Then the wolf crawls in behind his boyfriend and pulls him into his arms. Stiles stops shivering in less than a minute and is sleeping again in less than two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That evening, before Stiles’ dad is due home, Derek drives the teen back to his place. They’ve worked out an explanation in case the sheriff asks any questions. The story is that when Stiles started feeling sick he called Derek to bring him some cough syrup, and the wolf took it upon himself to bring over everything he thought he would need to take care of the teen. It’s not that far off from the truth, except that in this version, they never left the Stilinski house. Derek even repacks the reusable grocery bags and hauls them all over, then unpacks them again once they get to the house. He leaves the Camaro out front because there’s no point in hiding it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Noah gets home, it’s pretty clear he knows Stiles was faking that morning because he calls up the stairs, “So, how long after I left did you wait to call Derek?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles, who had been dosed with a fever reducer and cough syrup, snuffles awake and immediately begins coughing. Derek pulls them both into a sitting position with Stiles leaning against him and lets out an annoyed growl. As Stiles cough dies away, the sheriff appears in the doorway and takes in the scene before him. His expression morphs from annoyed to concerned as he takes a few steps into the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You feeling okay, kid?” Noah asks, his voice much quieter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles shakes his head, still leaning heavily against Derek. The sheriff pulls Stiles’ desk chair up to the side of the bed and Derek tightens his arms around his boyfriend, his signature scowl in place as he watches Noah reach for his son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S’okay, Der,” Stiles rasps, sitting up under his own power and allowing his dad to press the back of his fingers to his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re in rough shape, huh?” Noah says, his voice soft around the edges as his hand drifts to Stiles’ cheek. “Why didn’t you call me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hadta work,” Stiles answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m not at work now,” Noah replies, helping his son lie back down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sheriff looks at Derek, who lowers himself to lie next to Stiles. The teen feels his boyfriend wrap his arms around him from behind and knows from the unimpressed look on his dad’s face that Derek’s still glaring at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I told you I could take it from here, would you listen?” the sheriff asks, giving Derek a pointed look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Derek growls and Stiles is too tired to fight the urge to smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not that Derek doesn’t like Stiles’ dad. In fact, the two of them get along surprisingly well. (Stiles is pretty sure it has to do with the fact that Derek sneaks the sheriff burgers and curly fries when Stiles is at school. As far as he can tell, they both think he doesn’t know.) But Derek tends to get overprotective when it comes to Stiles. It’s been that way since before they started dating. Stiles used to get annoyed about it, especially when Derek tried to prevent him from helping him and Scott when things went down. But Stiles had explained that he needed to be there to see for himself if everyone was okay, or to step in because he was the fastest thinker of all of them. Eventually, Derek gave in. Stiles figures Derek’s just feeling extra protective after the incident with the Nogitsune, and Stiles can’t exactly blame him because he feels extra protective of Derek since Mexico, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it’s probably best to get his dad out of the room when Derek’s feeling this way, so Stiles says, “Dad, Derek brought stuff to bake soup… mbake soup. Dambit. You ndow what I bean. Adyway, he hasn’t gotten a chance to. Think you could bake it and bri’g be a bowl?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles can feel Derek shifting a little behind him. He briefly loosens his embrace, then tightens it again, and Stiles is pretty sure he knows why. The wolf has had a hard time leaving him alone since he’d thrown up. That suits Stiles just fine, since he gets cuddles whenever he wants them. But now he’s pretty sure Derek is torn between wanting to be the one to do what Stiles needs and keeping him in his sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the sheriff’s part, he looks more than a little surprised by the request. Usually Stiles doesn’t let him do anything for him when he’s sick. Stiles has explained multiple times that it’s because his dad is really important and needs to be able to leave without worrying about his son if he’s called to a scene, and besides, Stiles is old enough to take care of himself. That answer has never seemed to sit right with the sheriff, but Stiles has stuck by it for years. So when a delighted smile spreads across his dad’s face, Stiles knows he’s done the right thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, kid,” Noah says, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “I’ll bring you a sleeve of crackers, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the sheriff is downstairs, Derek says lowly, “I coulda made you soup if you’d told me you were hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ndow,” Stiles says. He has to pause as he turns around to face Derek because the effort is making him breathe harder than normal. “But by dad ndever gets the chance to cook and he really loves it. Plus, you sounded like you were about to rip his head off and I don’ wan’ my boyfriend to bake be an orphand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek tucks Stiles head under his chin and squeezes him again, griping, “I wouldn’t do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ndow, sourwolf,” Stiles says into his chest. “Jus’ teasi’g.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The soup ends up being pretty good. Or at least Stiles assumes it is, because he can’t actually taste very much. But his dad seems satisfied when he’s able to get half a bowl down. It takes a lot of reassurance to convince Derek that half a bowl is really good under the circumstances. But he seems to cheer up when Stiles has enough energy to go downstairs and watch Netflix in the living room. It’s not much, and Derek insists on bringing everything down from Stiles’ room--including his trash can and comforter--but he’s sitting up and talking, even smiling. Noah joins them for a little while, though he doesn’t sit on the couch with them. He tries, but Derek gives him a look that Stiles interprets as a barely suppressed urge to do exactly what he told Stiles he wouldn’t, and instead the man chooses the recliner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get through two full episodes of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The X-Files</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Stiles’ voice growing hoarser as he keeps up a commentary. But as the third episode progresses, he becomes quieter and quieter until he’s barely keeping his eyes open where he leans against Derek’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wolf kisses his forehead and says, “Let’s finish this tomorrow, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles lets out a raspy little hum and closes his eyes. He’s comfortable sitting there with Derek propping him up, their thighs flush together and Derek’s arm around his shoulders. The teen’s more than willing to stay there all night, but the wolf obviously has other plans because he disappears from Stiles’ side, eliciting a grumpy little moan. It doesn’t last, though, because Derek wraps him in the comforter and easily hooks one arm under Stiles’ knees and the other behind his back before carrying him up the stairs and laying him gently on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve gotta go get your water and stuff,” Derek whispers, his lips brushing the shell of Stiles’ ear. “But I’ll be right back, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles is asleep before Derek returns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Stiles stays home again. It must worry his friends because he gets a text from Scott asking if he’s okay, and then one from Lydia asking the same thing. (“Seriously? Don’ they ever talk to each other?”) Stiles still feels like death, but the day goes much smoother now that Derek has a better idea of how to take care of him. On Saturday, Stiles is restless and absolutely refuses to stay in bed no matter how much Derek insists. But that’s the day his fever breaks and once that happens, the wolf calms down just a little. Stiles’ cough and runny nose are persistent but his headache, dizziness, and muscle pain are gone, so Derek resigns himself to following his boyfriend around the house as he cleans, and sitting on the bed watching him tie little strings to the pins on his corkboard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Stiles turns away from his board in the middle of measuring a string he’s stretching from one push pin to another and says, “Hey. Tha’ks for taking care of be. I’b, uh, not usually such ad andoyi’g little shit whend I’b sick. Ndot really sure what happened there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His free hand flies to the back of his neck--which is heating up just like his cheeks--as his gaze finds the floor. He hears the springs on his bed release and Derek’s standing in front of him when he looks up. Like, right in front of him. Like, if Stiles leaned forward just an inch he could kiss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile sprouts from Derek’s lips, reaching his eyes. He takes the teen’s chin between his finger and thumb and says, “Stiles, since the day I met you, you’ve been an annoying little shit. But I will always take care of you. No matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss that follows that pronouncement is definitely in their top ten.</span>
</p>
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